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PROFESSOR HOLDICH'S DISCOURSE* 

ON THE 

ov 

REV. WILLBUR FISK, S. T. D. 



LIBRARV OF CONGRESS 





A 

DISCOURSE 

ON THE 

CHARACTER 

OF 

REV. WIL.I.BUR FISK, S. T. B.^ 

LATE PRESIDENT OF WESLEYAN UNlVERSITr, 

Delivered before the 

OF THE 

UNIVERSITY, 

IN THE 

METHODIST EPISCOPAI. CHURCH, MIDDLETOWN, CONN.^ 

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 3D, 1839, 
And now published by their Request. 



BY REV. J. HOLiDICH, A. M., 

PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY AND BELLES LETTRES- 




MIDDLETOWN: 

E. HUNT & CO. 



1839. 




9 h-: 



c. H. PELTON, Printer. 



DISCOURSE, &c. 



' KNOW YE NOT THAT THERE IS A PRINGE AND A GREA.T MAN FALLEN THIS 
DAY IN ISRAEL."— 2 Sam. iii. 38. 

To avail ourselves of the virtuous example of the il- 
lustrious dead, is the chief advantage v^hich the living 
enjoy in the midst of sorrow for their departure. And 
the influence of their virtues is the only legacy they can 
bequeath to mankind, in the contemplation of which they 
can find satisfaction in a better state of being. Exam- 
ple, it is often said, is more available than precept. It is 
so; but there are many things to weaken the force of an 
example, while living, which exist no longer when the 
subject is taken from us: and even the best and bright- 
est example, however influential while living, seems to 
possess still greater force and authority when the subject 
is enshrined in Heaven. Then our vision can no longer 
be jaundiced by envy; nor our judgment perverted by 
prejudice; nor our affection chilled by the practical re- 
proof of a living object; while the heart is open to aH 
the tenderer influences of latent affection and respect, 
called vigorously into action by the touching remem- 
brances of departed scenes. Then when the heart is 
yielding to all gentle and affecting emotions, how readily 
do the images of remembered virtues imprint themselves 
upon the soul, and awaken deep toned aspirations after 
a similitude of character I 

And if, in connexion with true greatness of character, 
the causes can be presented which produced it, the prac- 



4 



tical efficiency of such an example may be greatly in- 
creased, particularly if the causes be such as lie within 
our reach. 

The character of the venerated subject of our present 
discourse possesses peculiar advantages in all respects. 
His v/as a character truly eminent ; one, too, that was 
less weakened in its force by inimical influences than 
that of almost any other man with whom it is our privi- 
lege to be acquainted ; and yet, owing to the love uni- 
versally felt for him, will be still more influential now 
that he is gone. It is a character, too, raised to great- 
ness by causes, in a great degree, within our reach For 
the foundation and superstructure,— the origin and com- 
pletion of it, — was, the deep seated and vigorous influ- 
ence of the christian spirit and principles. That which 
imparted to it beauty and dignity, excellence and symme- 
try, was, the "grace of our Lord Jesus Christ;" and 
while w^e render the admiration and acknowledgement 
due to the human medium of its exhibition, and hold up 
a human example for our edification, still we ascribe the 
glory to Him to whom alone belongs the praise of every 
good word and work. 

The words of our text were uttered by David in refer- 
ence to the death of Abner, who, out of envy and revenge, 
was treacherously assassinated by Joab the son of Ze- 
ruiah. With the history of this transaction we shall not 
now meddle ; since the words we have chosen are only 
intended to be introductory to our principal design on 
this occasion. 

It shall be our endeavor, in this discourse, to shew 
what constitutes true greatness of character; — to shew 
that these elements belonged to the venerated subject of 
this discourse; — and to render his example available, if 
possible, to our own improvement. 



5 



Never were you more imperatively called upon to lift 
up your hearts to God and pray that his blessing may 
rest upon our endeavors to serve him ! 

I. What constitutes true greatness of character. 

Greatness, though in a positive form, is but a relative 
term. There is no such thing as absolute greatness short 
of Deity. Men are only great by comparison with one 
another ; or with some ideal standard to which reference 
is made. He is usually esteemed great that is conspicu- 
ous in his own circle of influence, that stands out promi- 
nently from the mass of men, that is above the general 
standard of character about him. Hence it follows that 
he who is great in one age, or circle, or position is not 
necessarily so in another. Much also depends on the 
tastes of his contemplators : since qualities which some 
esteem, others despise ; and what obtain the admiration 
of one class, by a different class are considered superla- 
tively little and contemptible. If we should take the 
opinions of any given circle as the test of greatness, there 
would hardly be such a variable term in the English lan- 
guage. It would characterize the loftiest achievements 
of the human mind, and the meanest; the noblest quali- 
ties of the heart, and the basest. It would belong to 
Halley calculating the return of a comet, to Luther at 
the diet of Worms, and go down to distinction in occu- 
pations that degrade our nature and shock our better 
feelings. 

But among this clashing of opinions is there nothing 
to determine what constitutes true greatness of charac- 
ter ? 1 think there is ; and it may be ascertained by 
inquiring what constitutes greatness in any other appli- 
cation of the term. We consider any thing great which 
possesses the best or most essential qualities of its na- 
ture in an unusual degree. But observe, it is not the 



6 



possession of one quality, however eminent, that secures 
superiority. There must be a due proportion in the oth- 
er quahties; a certain harmony and correspondence in 
the parts. The Peak of TenerifFe, though twelve thou- 
sand feet high, is not a great mountain, for it wants ex- 
tent; and our own Appalachian range does not rank 
among the greatest mountains of the globe; for though 
it possesses extent, it wants elevation. 

If this mode of judgment be correct, then he only is a 
great man who possesses the best or most essential qua- 
lities of our nature in an unusual degree and in due pro- 
portion. But the qualities of human character are of two 
kinds, intellectual and moral; and these again are sub- 
divided into several subordinate features. 

If, so far, we be correct in our premises, it will follow 
that the world has committed some serious and perni- 
cious mistakes on the subject of human greatness. Ac- 
cording to these principles, he is not a great man who 
owes his distinction merely to adventitious circumstan- 
ces. Yet there are thousands of names that are esteem- 
ed great only because the proprietor occupied a promi- 
nent station in the world; and thousands of others es- 
teemed diminutive because unattended by the trappings 
of human distinction. But what of all that ? Can place 
give greatness ? 

" Pigmies are pigmies still, though perch'd on Alps; 
And pyramids, are pyramids in vales." 

Nor is he truly great who possesses merely one mental 
quality in uncommon prominence, but is wanting in the 
others. For as one beautiful feature will not make a 
handsome face, neither will one splendid attribute make 
a great mind. 

Nor can he be truly great that possesses uncommon 



7 



mental endowments, without corresponding moral pow- 
ers. Bacon in intellect and learning ranks among the 
greatest of the human species. But Bacon in his study and 
Bacon in the world, if we are to credit history, were dis- 
tinct beings. Possessed of transcendant mental qualities, 
a power of genius that forced itself into new channels of 
thought, plunged into the dark unknown and brought to 
light new principles of philosophy, that stamped his name 
upon every subsequent discovery in science, and upon 
every new theory in morals, was yet so dwarfish in his 
moral stature as to have drawn upon him the paradoxical 
epithets — 

" Greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind." 

On the contrary a great man is one whose greatness 
is in himself, not in circumstances. The elements are 
within him. His own bosom is the reservoir whence he 
draws his power to attract admiration or command re- 
spect. True, it does not follow that he always will com- 
mand attention, nor that his worth will be always felt. 
Nor were that necessary to prove the character true. 
The fires of iEtna may long slumber unobserved, and the 
ocean long present nothing but a clear and glassy face, 
mirroring the passing object and deluding us with its 
quiescence. But their powers are within, and they only 
wait the suitable occasion to make them manifest. Let 
but the mountain belch forth her contents, and the ocean 
be lashed to fury, and you arc amazed at the power that 
was latent in those calm and tranquil monarchs of their 
species. 

A harmony of mental character is another requisite to 
a great man. He does not possess one feature in striking 
prominence, while he is glaringly deficient in others. A 
man is not great because he possesses a splendid imagi- 



8 



nation, but without judgment or memory; or that pos- 
sesses a capacious and retentive memory without the 
power of arrangement or combination. A great man 
is something different from a great collector of facts and 
particulars, a great musician, poet, or orator. Patrick 
Henry, great as he certainly was at the forum and the 
bar, was found to be something less than a great man 
when he came to grapple with the master spirits that 
composed the National Congress of 1774. A great man 
is one who possesses so complete and harmonious a men- 
tal character that he can be, whatever it is necessary 
that he should be. His mental powers are all there, rea- 
dy to be called into action when needed. Imagination, 
judgment, memory, reason, all exist, and exist in due 
proportion; and if he be distinguished in one depaitment 
rather than another, it is not because he has no power to 
be distinguished elsewhere, but because circumstances 
have directed his selection. Who will say that the great 
lord Bacon, — great in intellect, though not in character, 
a great mind, not a great man, — could not have made a 
poet as well as a philosopher ? His was a capacity equal 
to the mightiest undertakings, and that could stoop even 
to the most humble. He could comprehend the whole 
planetary system and take in the entire circle of the sci- 
ences ; and yet descend to all the minutiae of ordinary 
life. " His mind," as one graphically expressed it, " was 
like the trunk of an elephant, that can rive an oak, or pick 
up a pin." The elements of the poet were with him, de- 
licacy as well as strength, imagination as well as rea- 
soning. 

A great man is one who possesses eminent moral en- 
dowments in due proportion among themselves, and in 
just relation to the intellectual character. The moral 
nature of man is his noblest characteristic, the most im- 



9 



portant to all the purposes of his being and elevates him 
above the brute even nnore than the intellectual. But 
both are necessary to decided superiority of character. 
It is the one of these classes that gives stimulus and di- 
rection to the other. Where there are great intellectual 
abilities and but little moral force, the possessor dreams 
away his life, like the poet Thompson, in strenuous idle- 
ness, and hardly accomplishes any thing worthy of him- 
self Or if his moral powers be not properly governed 
so as rightly to direct his intellectual operations he forms 
one of those meteor lights in literature, that have so often 
shed a baleful influence on the world. O, had the ba- 
lance been always maintained between the intellectual 
and the moral endowments, the good need not to have 
shed such burning tears upon the memory of a Boling- 
broke and a Gibbon, a Byron and a Shelly. I know not 
that a greater judgment can be inflicted on mankind, than 
splendid minds without moral principle. Such minds 
have, indeed, grandeur, nay sublimity ; but it is the gran- 
deur of the Hghtning that blasts what e'er it touches; 
or the subHmity of the tornado that spreads ruin and de- 
solation wherever it appears. O, it is fearful to see such 
uncommon power trusted in hands that know not how to 
use it. Better for us to have the more steady light and 
genial warmth of our ordinary luminary, than the lurid 
glare of the misdirected lightning; or to have the softest 
zephyrs' pleasant fannings, rather than the grandeur of 
the hurricane ; or the fertilizing gentle dews, rather than 
the terrible sublimity of the tempest and inundation. — 
How should every believer in the Providence of God 
pray that our world may be spared the desolating influ- 
ence of misdirected talent; that virtue may always con- 
secrate talents to the cause of humanity; in a word", that 
greatness may never exist without goodness. 
2 



10 



Again; if it be true that a great man possesses the 
elements in himself, and is not dependant on circumstan- 
ces ; that he has a harmonious development of all the no- 
bler qualities of the head and the heart, I think it will 
follow, that a truly great man, is great every where, at 
home as well as abroad, upon close inspection as well as 
to a distant gaze, in one situation as well as in another. 
How this differs from the commonly received notion I 
need not say. It has somehow or other passed into ge- 
neral acceptance, and the celebrated Dr. Johnson seems 
to have sanctioned the opinion, that the most eminent 
men are least eminent at home; and that the brightest 
characters lose much of their lustre on a nearer view. 
But if this be so, it must be because of some glaring and 
radical defect. When there is that completeness of cha- 
racter which makes a great man, there is a just subordi- 
nation and an harmonious action among all the faculties. 
The moral powers move in accordance with the intellec- 
tual; the passions are all subjugated to the reason, and 
the actions to the conscience. Such a man is consistent ; 
he always acts like himself; he bears the stamp of his 
own individuality. There is in him the outline of gran- 
deur and the finishing cf beauty. He is like the paint- 
ings oi the great masters of the older school, sketched 
out on the largest scale, yet with the exquisite finish of 
the miniature. Such a man bears examining at every 
point : and is noble near at hand or afar off. Seen at a 
distance, the glorious outlines of his character command 
respect; seen at a nearer view the exquisite finishing and 
beautiful symmetry of the whole conciliate aflfection and 
secure esteem. Such a man is indeed the noblest work 
of God! — the highest monument of grace! True, he 
may tiot be always adequately appreciated. Prejudice 
or envy may misconstrue his actions; party views ma^ 



11 



impute wrong motives ; he may sometimes, like an ob- 
ject seen through a mist, appear in colors not his own. 
But what then? The virtue is within; the greatness is 
unsullied. Men may misjudge, but Heaven reads his 
heart ; and while puny mortals sneer below, an approving 
Deity smiles above. He stands 

" Like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale and midway cleaves the storm ; 
Though round its breast some transient clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

One more element of a great man, 1 must introduce. 
It is that he always lives up to his own convictions of the 
demands of his immortal nature. 1 cannot conceive of 
a man truly great, who beheves in his celestial nature and 
lives like an earth-worm ; who professes to believe in a 
better world and lives as if this world were all ; who be- 
lieves in God, and lives as an atheist might live. There 
is no grandeur in such a character. It is shocking, it is 
painful. Why is such a spectacle ever presented ? Is it 
because man's passions have dominion over reason.^ or 
because interest is stronger than conscience ? Or pre- 
sent, inferior things, more influential than future superior 
things ? But this is not grandeur. It is meanness. It 
is degradation. It argues a sad derangement of the fac- 
ulties, a dwarfish or depraved moral nature. A proper 
direction and adjustment of the powers reduces every 
thing to order, puts every thing in its right place. The 
nobler faculties have their full development and their per- 
fect influence. No man is great therefore who violates 
his own convictions of right; who does not honor his 
own immortality by living up to its demands. 

II. It shall be the object of our second division to shew 
that these elements of a great man belonged to the reve- 



12 



red subject of the piesent discourse. To accomplish 
this object, it will only be necessary for us to present a 
brief summary of his life and character. This will not 
only shew what manner of man he was; but will also un- 
fold the causes which led to so great an elevation of ex- 
cellence. 

WiLLBu R FisK, was born at Brattleboro, Vermont, on 
the 31st of August, 1792. His parents are both living 
and have survived him to endure in their old age a be- 
reavement which few can ever suffer. His genealogy 
was not illustrious. But in the language of one to whom 
his character in several features bore a resemblance he 
might have said, 

" My boast is not that I deduce my birth, 
From loins enthroned, or rulers of the earth ; 
No ! higher far my proud pretensions rise, 
A child of parents destined to the skies.'' 

His parents belonged to that large and important class 
which constitutes the nerve and strength of the nation ; 
which has so greatly enriched every department of the 
community with talents and worth — viz. the respectable 
middle class. They possessed all the substantial quali- 
ties of New England farmers, but with superior intelli- 
gence and information. His father stood high in the es- 
timation of his fellow citizens, and served with great re- 
spectability several responsible public offices. His mo- 
ther was then, and his father has since become a worthy 
member of the JMethodist Episcopal Church, and noted 
for their fervent and consistent piety. His mother with 
exemplary diligence, and cliristian faithfulness discharged 
her obligations ; and it was through her instruction, and 
prayers and example that his mind was first impressed 
with the importance of sacred things. When in the 



13 



twelfth year of his age an event occurred in his father's 
family which tended to give a practical influence to his 
early religious instructions. This was the death of a 
younger brother to whom he was deeply and tenderly at- 
tached. Young cs he was this circumstance produced a 
strong and permanent impression upon bis mind. He 
saw the uncertainty of life. He felt the importance of 
being prepared for death and a better state of being. — 
Even at that tender age, the Holy Spirit seemed to pro- 
duce in him deep convictions of sin, and an earnest de- 
sire for salvation. Nor did he rest until he sought, and 
believed that he had found redemption in the blood of 
Christ. He now became fervently, consistently pious ; 
and gave strong proof of the power of divine grace over 
almost an infant heart. 

His early opportunities of education were but limited. 
He had always a strong predisposition to learning and a 
great thirst for knowledge. But unfortunately, in conse- 
quence of losses in business, and failure in the engage- 
ments of others, his father's circumstances were not suf- 
ficient to procure him such means of instruction as he 
required. 

However, at the age of sixteen he was sent for a short 
time to the grammar school at Peacham. Here he en- 
enjoyed advantages which he had not before, and which 
greatly stimulated his desire for mental improvement ; 
and visions of intellectual beauty passed before his mind 
enticing him strongly to enter the walks of literature and 
science. Here he saw young men fitting themselves for 
college and heard them talk over their plans and pros- 
pects, and his heart burned to join their band and follow 
their pursuits. He found, moreover, that many young 
men of slender means made out to obtain an education 
by working their way and supporting themselves. Hav- 



14 



ing with some difficulty obtained his father's consent, he 
determined to make the attempt. He therefore com- 
menced his preparatory course, and about the year 1B12 
entered the University of Vermont at Burhngton. But 
" the events of 1813,*' to use his own lan^uaore, drove 
the students from the temple of Minerva to make room 
for the sons of Mars/' The College buildings were con- 
verted into barracks. He now entered Brown Universi- 
ty at Providence, Rhode Island, where he graduated with 
distinction and commenced bachelor of arts in 1815. 

It was at this time his intention to study law, and with 
that view entered the office of a highly respectable at- 
torney. But again his circumstances embarrassed him. 
At the end of six months he abandoned his object and 
engaged as private tutor in a gentleman's family in Ma- 
ryland. Here he continued but a short time, not more 
than two years, when the rupture of a blood vessel in the 
lungs made it needful for him to return to his native air. 
On his way he was taken very ill with a fever at Burling- 
ton, Vt, and w^as brought very near to death. But the 
ways of Providence are merciful. He was spared for his 
own good and the benefit of many. On arriving at home 
he found a powerful revival of religion in progress, and by 
this means his serious impressions which had very much 
declined during his scholastic career were revived with 
greater force than ever. The complexion of his life was 
now entirely changed. He gave himself away to Christ, 
and entered upon the work of the sacred ministry, and 
thought of nothing but to be a plain, faithful and efficient 
minister of the New Testament. 

His talents, zeal and piety immediately attracted at- 
tention, and he rose rapidly to an elevated place in the 
confidence and affection of his brethren and of the 
church. Of this substantial proof was given in the im- 



15 



portant stations assigned to him. Few nnen obtain as 
early as he the appointment of Presiding Elder, or that of 
delegate to the General Conference. A farther mark of 
confidence was reposed in him in being elected principal 
of the Wesleyan Academy at Wilbraham, and then Pre- 
sident of the Wesleyan University, in both which stations 
he secured such unqualified approbation. Nor is this 
all. He was appointed at a very critical time to the im- 
portant and responsible office of delegate to the British 
Conference ; and twice he was elected a Bishop in the 
Methodist Church — the highest honor in her gift. May 
I not safely add that there is scarcely a man in the church 
that claimed him for a son whose death would have been 
as deeply and as widely felt, or who could not have been 
better spared ? 

Nor was the respect paid him confined to his own 
Church. Various Colleges under different rehgious de- 
nominations have united to confer on him literary dis- 
tinction ; and it is but a short time since that one of the 
most distinguished classical scholars of the age dedica- 
ted to him a new publication on a classical language. 

Nor is his name confined to our country; nor will his 
loss be felt merely at home. In Europe he has many 
friends and admirers who will hear of his death with dis- 
may. In Asia, too, there are those to whom his name 
is as a household word ; and in South America the sad 
intelligence will produce many a deep drawn sigh. 
But O Liberia! What will thou say when it shall 
be told thee that the tongue of thy eloquent advocate is 
silent in the dust ? And thou, too, poor Oregon ! how 
wilt thou feel when the tidings shall reach thee, thy pa- 
tron — thy father — is no more ! Methinks I hear a voice 
of lamentation coming from Europe, Asia, Africa and 
America, whose united cry is, " How are the mighty 
fallen, and the weapons of war perished !" 



16 



From this brief glance at the life of our late venerated 
President, we may take a general view of bis claims to 
that high designation we have appropriated to him — 
a great man. 

1. It is obvious that he owed but little to adventitious 
circumstances. He derived not his birth from a long 
line of storied ancestry, which at once elevates an 
individual on a pedestal that commands the gaze of 
thousands and in whom a little merit passes for a great 
deal more than its real value. It was not his name that 
drew attention to his talents ; it was his talents that gave 
lustre to his name. He forced his own way out of ob- 
scurity, and by the power of his own genius and the ex- 
cellence of his character, carved out a name for himself 
in the temple of renown. Nor was he at birth ushered 
at once into the regions of elegance and refinement, and 
surrounded by those social blandishments which tend to 
rub off the asperities of nature, to polish the manners, 
and beautify the character. Nor was he nursed in the 
lap of affluence, and aided in his pursuits by all the fa- 
cilites which wealth secures. No ; in all these respects 
he had few advantages which we have not all possessed. 
He sprang from the people, from the substantial, intelli- 
gent yeomanry of New-England. How then did he 
attain to such eminence in science and literature ? It 
was by the force of his own genius ; by patient, laborious, 
untiring industry. Precisely, young gentlemen, as many 
of you are now pursuing the same course. And how 
did he attain such elegance of manners ; — manners at 
once dignified yet familiar ; modest, yet always calm and 
self-possessed ; manners, indeed, which all admired but so 
few attain, even under the most favorable auspices ? It 
was the quickness of his observation which enabled him 
readily to appropriate to himself whatever was graceful 
and becoming in others. It was the superiority of his . 



17 



mind, which always commanded respect, and every 
where secured him an ascendancy. But above all, it 
was the dominant influence of piety; which by purify- 
ing the heart from selfish feelings, renders its possessor 
always kind, and, therefore polite ; and by destroying 
paltry vanity and ambition and taking away all undue 
anxiety how to appear, makes its possessor always ap- 
pear to advantage, because it makes him easy and natu- 
ral, simple and unconstrained. 

It is evident, then, that his greatness was in himself. 
He may not inappropriately be styled a self-made man ; 
under the blessing of Heaven, the architect of his own 
destinies. 

2. His intellectual endowments were of a very superi- 
or order. His was without question a great mind — a 
mind truly great. All his faculties were unusually strong 
and admirably developed. A beautiful illustration of 
every mental susceptibility might be drawn from his pro- 
ductions, had we time to make the selections. His 
memory was capacious and retentive: witness the stores 
of information he had collected. His imagination was 
lively and vigorous. How often have you seen the liv- 
ing image rise up and stand out before you under the vi- 
vidness of his descriptions. He possessed all the quah- 
ties necessary to a clear, close, cogent logician. Wit- 
ness his tract on the Unitarian question, than which there 
is, perhaps, hardly a clearer, neater, or more conclusive 
piece of reasoning in the Enghsh language. But of all 
his faculties none was more surprising than the soundness 
of his judgment. He seemed to possess an almost in- 
tuitive perception of truth and right. Of this you have 
all had proof in the remarkable prudence of his con- 
duct ; in the wisdom of his counsels ; in the sagacity 
which generally marked his undertakings; and in a 
3 



18 



blamelessness of life which almost defied censure. If 1 
ever knew a person who never by an unguarded word or 
an unbecoming action detracted from the dignity of his 
own character, that man was Dr. Fisk. And when I say 
that of one who was not by any means taciturn, and as 
prompt in action as in speech, I have paid as high a eu- 
logy as we dare pay to human wisdom. 

But we would not be misunderstood. We do not 
mean to signify that Dr. Fisk excelled every man in eve- 
ry thing, or in any one thing. Far from it. Many may 
have excelled him in each particular. We do not claim 
for him the polyglottic skill of Sir Wm. Jones or Dr. Adam 
Clarke; nor the metaphysical acuteness of Locke or 
Edwards ; nor the gorgeous imagination of Chalmers or 
Jeremy Taylor; nor the profound mathematical know- 
ledge of Newton or La Place ; nor the refined elegance 
of Addison or Robert Hall. But he possessed more of 
all these talents than any one of them singly taken ; more- 
over none of us know what he might have been had he 
confined his attention to any one department ; and still 
less, had he lived the ordinary length of human life. But 
it was not in any one feature that his superiority or his 
strength lay. It was in the beautiful harmony of the whole; 
it was in his completeness of mental character. Here lay 
his peculiar excellence. With every faculty beyond the 
common standard, the whole were bound together by a 
zone of grace that charmed ev.ery spectator. 

It was to this harmony of mental character that he 
owed, in a great degree, his success as a public speak- 
er. Owing to his versatihty of talent he was ready upon 
every subject, and could accommodate himself to every 
occasion. Did the subject and occasion demand argu- 
ment ? He had but to apply his clear, discriminating 
mind, and forth there flowed arguments forcible and 



19 



strong, such as reason could not well resist, nor sophistry 
evade. Did it require imagination ? He had but to give 
wings to his fancy, and like the wand of the magician, it 
could bring troops of images, tripping in sportive beauty 
before the eye, or marching in dignity and grandeur 
across the scene. Or did circumstances demand the 
chastened humor, the harmless satire ? We have seen 
him at a deliberative assembly when angry feelings were 
enkindling, rise in his calm and playful manner, with that 
sportive smile you all know so well, and by one stroke of 
delicate humor, avert the gathering storm and change 
the whole current of feeling. Those beautiful flashes came 
like a sunbeam breaking through a gloomy atmosphere, 
throwing a momentary radiance on every surrounding 
object. But his humor was delicate, not broad and 
coarse ; his satire was not biting nor unfair ; but temper- 
ed with christian meekness and charity. Or did the oc- 
casion demand emotion ? Was it necessary to arouse 
the sympathies of an audience ? His ductile mind and 
vivid and vigorous sensibilities were ready for the task. 
He could not only logically demonstrate a proposition, or 
unravel a knotty point in theology ; he could with equal 
effect address himself to the heart and awaken the loftiest 
aspirations of the human soul. Some of you have heard 
the eloquence, the pathos with which he could plead the 
various causes of benevolence ; and many of you have 
felt the unction with which he would discourse to us from 
the Book of God and urge upon men the claims of eter- 
nity. For ourselves we have scarcely known when to 
call him greatest, couching the lance in the arena of the- 
ological contest; or wielding the sword of the spirit in 
the place of spiritual warfare ; or exercising the shield of 
faith and breast plate of charity in a still closer contest 
with the powers of darkness. 



20 



There was, moreover, a remarkable uniformity and 
suitability in his performances. He did not always wait 
for great occasions to draw out his resources. Were I 
to enumerate his most successful efforts which it was my 
privilege to hear, I should certainly include a sermon 
preached at Durham during a revival; and I have heard 
it said by the people of those places that some of his 
most powerful sermons were preached in the little chur- 
ches of Middlefield and Berlin, on common occasions and 
without any peculiar interest or excitement to call out 
his energies. We do not mean, however, that he never 
failed, or that he was always equally great. Far from it. 
Had he always preached alike he would have been some- 
thing less than Dr. Fisk. It is the part of a great man 
to adapt himself to the occasion. Suitability and pro- 
priety are essential qualities in all performances. He 
always does best who does what the occasion requires, 
and no more. This he generally did. He could rise to 
the level of the most extraordinary occasions and grace- 
fully descend to the most familiar. And if he ever disap- 
pointed expectation, it was because he ventured to ap- 
pear in circumstances under which an inferior mind 
would not have dared to make an effort. A httle man 
has not an inch of his stature to spare. A great man 
can afford to stoop sometimes, and appear the more be- 
coming for it. There are some whose public efforts are 
so disproportionately above the ordinary tone of their 
minds, that it requires extraordinary occasions and high 
excitement to raise them to the proper pitch. There 
are others, who though they may not always be equally 
well prepared, yet are not afraid to come forward on eve- 
ry necessary occasion with what they have. Those who 
love the meteor's flash and the lightning's glare will pre- 
fer the former. They who choose the less brilliant but 



21 



more uniform light of day, will prefer the latter. A chief 
beauty in Dr. Fisk's mental character, as already obser- 
ved, was its harmony, its uniformity. It did not move 
convulsively, fitfully There was nothing spasmodic 
about him; there were no paroxysms. His great- 
ness sat upon him easily, gracefully, naturally. To 
reverse the metaphor applied to a distinguished man of a 
former age, he had the inspiration of the sybil without 
her contortions, and the strength of the oak without its 
sinuosities. 

3. It was my design to have illustrated at greater 
length the harmony of his moral energies — those powers, 
I mean, which stimulate to action and modify the man- 
ners. These were beautifully developed, and admirably 
balanced. He had neither that sluggishness of nature, 
that torpor of soul, which leaves the intellectual powers 
to stagnate and decay ; nor that reckless energy which 
outstrips reason and discretion and defeats its own aims 
by attempting too much or going too fast. If there was 
any (Jeficiency in his moral organization, it was in two 
points ; first in having no mercy upon himself, and the 
other, in having too much mercy for others. But these 
faults, if faults they were, leaned so much to virtue's side, 
and are so much easier to discern than to do better, that 
one hardly knows whether most to censure or admire. 

4. I should like also to have enlarged more fully upon 
his practical qualities. He was no dreaming visionary, 
or learned recluse. He gained knowledge for practical 
purposes, and considered knowledge of little value that 
could not be turned to utility. There is reason, too, to 
believe that this habit was adopted on principle. He 
has been heard to say that when young he was a good 
deal of a visionary; that he seemed to live in a region 
peopled by the creations of his own fancy; but that in 



22 



more mature years he found the necessity of changing 
his habits of feehng, and addicting himself more to busi- 
ness. And it was his advice to a young gentleman, " if 
you want to do any good in the world, you must learn to 
be a man of business — a practical man." But we pass 
on to notice what is to us a more interesting and impor- 
tant feature of his character. 

5. His personal piety. This was after all his crown- 
ing grace — his chief attraction. 

We have already seen that he became a subject of 
renewing grace in his youth, and that he lived for sever- 
al years the life of a spiritual, consistent christian. He 
^ continued to sustain this character until he went to the 
Grammar School at Peacham. Here he found but little 
sympathy in his religious feelings, nothing to aid, and 
many things to discourage him. The consequence was 
that his serious impressions were in a great degree effa- 
ced, though he always continued to respect religion, and 
never gave up private prayer, or ceased attending the 
house of God. But the sensible influence, the vivifying 
power of grace was gone. In this state of mind " hav- 
ing the form of godliness but without the power thereof," 
he continued through his collegiate course and until 
after his return from Maryland. The sickness which 
he had at Burlington again arrested his attention, and 
the impressions thus renewed, were perfected during the 
revival which he found in progress on his return home. 
Then he gave himself anew to Christ, and under a deep 
conviction of duty resolved to devote himself to the work 
of the ministry. At first he hesitated what church he 
should join; and while in this state of mind, wrote to 
one who then, and since, has had of all others the best 
opportunity to know his heart; "I shall make this a sub- 
ject of prayer, and entreat God to show me my duty. If 



23 



I shall be convinced that among that people (the Metho- 
dists,) I shall be most in the way of my duty, with them 
I shall continue. For though 1 could have a much better 
living with almost any other denomination, yet I am de- 
termined to do my duty at the loss of all things." The 
result of this investigation you all know ; nor did he ever 
repent the step he then took. Though liberal in his 
feelings and expansive in his charity, he always remained 
conscientiously a firm, genuine, uwavering Methodist. 
This lofty, generous spirit of christian heroism never left 
him. It was a shining trait in his character through his 
whole life, and shone out brightly to the very last. 

His personal piety was of a high order. It was deeply 
seated in the heart, and swayed a delightful influence 
over the entire man. It was not sullen or morose ; not 
cynical and repulsive. It was cheerful as the day, and 
melting as charity. He was eminently spiritually mind- 
ed. His piety was not occasional and uneven. It seem- 
ed a part of himself, and it shone forth every where. We 
have seen him in the cottage of the poor, and in the 
drawing-room of the elegant, and in either place his 
piety was recognized and felt. It led him to take a deep 
interest in the welfare of his friends and neighbors. I 
presume there is scarcely an individual in this house who 
has not had an interest in his supplications at the throne 
of grace. For he never failed whenever he heard of any 
affliction or distress in any family, to remember them at 
his own domestic altar. One other fact illustrative of his 
piety we may add. He has been heard to say that since 
he has been a minister, he had not known the time when he 
had gone to bed, without feeling that if he had waked in 
eternity aU would be well. 

His humility was striking. We have an evidence of 
this in the views he entertained of his ministerial qualifi- 



24 



cations. In his early days, he said, my greatest afflic- 
tion on this subject is, that the people where I labor and 
my brethren in the ministry, from a knowledge of my 
having had the advantages of a public education, expect 
more of me than they find in me. They find many others 
with not half my advantages go before me in the excel- 
lence and usefulness of their performances. And the 
greater their expectations, the greater their disappoint- 
ment, and the lower I sink in their estimation. But this 
is good for my naturally ambitious heart. It enables me 
to take an instructive lesson of humility from Him who 
has said ' learn of me, for I am meek and lowly.' Lord ! 
help me to become a fool that I may be wise. And if 
I glory in aught, let it be in my infirmities." The same 
trait was evinced when the degree of doctor in theology 
was first conferred upon him. He thought at once of 
declining it, alleging that neither his age, piety nor learn- 
ing entitled him to such an honor. In a few days, how- 
ever, some one remarked that he could not avoid it 
without a public renunciation, as the students, (he was 
then at Wilbraham,) began already to give him the title. 
He replied that in that case he would let it go. For to 
come out and publicly disclaim it, would look too much 
like an affectation of humility. It was in this spirit he 
bore his honors, rather as a burden and responsibility to 
tremble under, than as a distinction to be proud of or to 
glory in. The same trait was observable on his appoint- 
ment to the Presidency of the Wesleyan University. At 
first he thought of declining, and yielded, at length, out of 
deference to the opinions and wishes of the church. It 
was equally observable in his private and social inter- 
course. He never seemed desirous of drawing attention 
to his own concerns. He was remarkably free from all 
egotism ; indeed, scarcely ever alluding to himself or his 



25 



performances, and never, but in the most intimate friend- 
ship. 

He was remarkable for his meekness and evenness of 
temper. This is more striking from the fact that when a 
child he was passionate and excitable. But he has been 
heard to thank God, that since he had felt the influence 
of religion he had hardly known what it was to feel angry. 
We have seen him tried and even insulted ; but who saw 
him angry? At the time of the outrage upon his feel- 
ings by a student, the only one ever perpetrated by them, 
how did we admire the calnmess, the composure of his 
manner; nay, his kindness to the misguided perpetrator 
of that insult. His temper like the tree which Moses 
cast into the streams of Marah, had the power of turning 
the bitter into sweetness. It was this perfect self-com- 
mand which gave him such superiority as a governor. 
He never forgot himself ; he never forfeited respect, or 
lowered his own dignity; and by this means he always 
maintained the vantage ground. What can be a surer 
proof of greatness ? what more incontestibly avouches the 
presence of a master spirit, than this unmoveable compo- 
sure ? What greater instance can be presented of moral 
grandeur than this constant ascendency of the superior 
faculties — this constant subordination of the lower to. 
the higher principles of our nature ? We admire bravery ; 
we applaud the man who exhibits military prowess. But 
a man may conquer cities and be a slave; may conquer 
the whole world, and be conquered by his own vices. 
Shall we, then, admire an Alexander with his midnight 
revels and frantic homicides.^ or a Marlborough with his 
despicable avarice ? or a Bonaparte with his criminal, 
selfish ambition.^ No ! rather give us the more splendid 
spectacle of a man who with strong passions, has a mind 
strong enough to govern them. For " he that is slow 
4 



26 



to anger is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth 
his spirit than he that taketh a city." But " he that 
hath no rule over his own spirit is hke a city broken down 
and without walls." 

I ought not to omit his zeal for the cause of rehgion. 
This was not an occasional impulse. It was not confin- 
ed to the platform or the pulpit. However earnest, 
zealous, and successful on such occasions, his zeal was 
not put on like a loose garment to go out in. No; it 
was the habitual feeling, the ruling, abiding all-pervading 
principle of his soul. It was this that led him to advo- 
cate the establishment of our literary institutions. He 
felt the injurious effects of being at institutions where 
there was little or no religious influence, and he desired 
to provide places of our own, in which young men could 
have all the advantages of education, without endanger- 
ing their religious principles. This was the reason of 
his entering so heartily into the project of establishing 
the Wilbraham Academy and the Wesleyan University. 
What pains he took to promote the religious welfare of 
those committed to his care you all know. A sentiment 
he expressed in his last illness is indicative of his con- 
stant feeling. " It has always been my aim, and as far as 
I know the feelings of the Faculty, it has been the aim of 
us ail, to send young men into the world to make it bet- 
ter." Hence the earnestness of his preaching, the ferven- 
cy of his prayers, the constancy of his exertions to pro- 
mote the religious interests of the University. You well 
remember the exhortations he has given, the private 
counsels or admonitions, as occasion required, and the 
tears he has shed over the penitent student returning to 
his God. This is the true test of religious zeal. Many 
motives of a questionable character, may concur to 
produce an appearance of zeal before the public and on 



27 



great occasions. That which is seen and felt in a person 
every where, and at all times must be genuine. 

But I must hasten to a more awful part of my subject — 
a part which I approach almost with dismay — the closing 
scenes. Would that those scenes had never transpired; 
or, since such was the will of God, would that the im- 
pressions of them might abide on our hearts forever! 

Dr. Fisk's constitution was always delicate. When a 
child he had an attack of illness which left behind it that 
fearful cough which so long beforehand " prophesied of 
the sepulchre." During his collegiate course, also, he 
had several severe turns of fever; and while in Mary- 
land, as we have observed before, he had an hemorrhage 
from the lungs. Indeed, he has always appeared to be 
walking on the verge of the grave. Thirteen years ago 
we remember he seemed almost like a dying man, and 
no one thought he would have lived half so long. We 
ought not, therefore, so much complain that he was cut 
down so soon, as be thankful that he was spared so long. 
However, we are never ready to part with our dearly 
prized mercies, and so we continued to cherish the hope 
of our revered President's continuing with us. But alas ! 
the time had to come. His race was finished, his work 
accomplished, and he was to enter into the joy of his 
Lord. 

But I must hasten to approach that scene which I 
dread to touch — from which my heart recoils — his dying 
scene. And O, what a death was that ! No powers of 
mine are adequate to do it justice. So calm, so sublime, 
so patient, so triumphant, since it must take place, it was 
worth a lifetime to witness it. It was a scene 

— — " quite in the verge of Heaven,'" 

When it was announced to him that there was no hope 



28 



of his recovering, he was perfectly calm, observing 
" death had no terrors to him," and began to arrange 
his temporal affairs as if only preparing for a pleasant 
journy. While all around were drowned in soriow, he 
alone was calm, serene and happy. The subject of 
distress — of nature's deepest, keenest agony was the 
fountain of consolation to all around him. All felt it, 
from the aged mother, with the wife and adopted daugh- 
ter, down to the casual visitant of his dying chamber. 

Snstead of giving the different scenes and expressions 
consecutively, for to do that, indeed, would of itself re- 
quire a volume, I choose rather to touch upon the more 
prominent features exhibited. And it is admirable what 
a perfect identity of character there was throughout the 
whole. He was Dr. Fisk to the very last. There was no 
falling off from his dignity, no obscuring of his excellen- 
cies. On the contrary, every virtue, every trait, seemed 
to acquire new lustre — increasing radiance. 

"Thus while the veil of flesh decayed, 
His beauties brightened through the shade; 
Charms which his lowly heart concealed, 
In nature's weakness were revealed." 

We were most forcibly struck with his patience, hu- 
mility, elevation of thought, philanthropy, oblivion of self 
and regard for others, faith in Christ and triumphant 
hope. 

His patience was so conspicuous, because it was so 
singularly tried. Owing to obstructed respiration, he 
could not lie down. For fourteen days and nights before 
his death he had to sit in his chair propped up with 
pillows, with the exception, perhaps, of only an hour or so 
in twenty-four. The extreme weariness produced by this, 
it is, perhaps, impossible for us to conceive. The agony 
was almost insupportable. Yet there was no murmur, 



29 



no complaining. He would some times express his feel- 
ings in such language, weary, weary me! when 
shall I find rest ; — rest in the grave ?" Again, after a 
paroxysm of difficult breathing, from which it was 
scarcely thought he could recover, he would say " what ! 
all this, and death not yet?" And then he would check 
himself, saying "If it were the will of God he would 
cheerfully submit. It is sweet to have our own will 
lost in God's!" Once he remarked "I groan and sigh 
a good deal ; and I have, perhaps, been in the habit of 
that all my life. But I hope it is not impatience; and I 
think it is not. It is only one of nature's own methods 
of expressing her agony." No one supected him of im- 
patience. There was not a mark of it upon his face. 
That calm, clear brow, was as smooth and unwrinkled 
as though a pang had never crossed his frame. 

The same humility which ever characterized him was 
still remarkable ; indeed, much more so, as his circum- 
stances led him to speak of himself, as he never did when 
well. All his expressions indicated a lowly opinion of 
himself. One remarked to him, that there was less to 
regret in his life, than in that of almost any one he ever 
knew." His reply was ; " I do not feel so at all. I seem 
full of imperfections. I have nothing to trust in but 
Christ. On expressing his gratification at the harmony 
and union which had always existed in the Faculty, 
one observed " You were the magnet which drew 
us together. We all loved you." He answered, 
" Yes; but not because I was worthy." Again he said, 
" I feel that I am a sinner ; a sinner saved by grace ; 
and if I get to Heaven 1 shall have as much reason to 
sing that song as any there." Although every body 
wondered at the amount of labor he accompHshed, we 
heard him complaining that he had done so little for 



30 



God. " I want," he said, " a score of years more to do 
any thing like what a man ought to do in the course of 
his life." Again, " I shall be a star of small magnitude 
in Heaven; but it is a wonder that I shall get there at 
all." 

His dignity of mind and elevation of thought were ne- 
ver more conspicuous than at this time. Every thing 
about him bespoke an intellect of a superior order. Even 
his aberrations — for a part of the time he was delirious 
— were indicative of thought, so naturally did it seem 
inwrought in his very structure. Every expression seem- 
ed to be a fragment of something important — a detach- 
ed link of a golden chain. At one time he was heard to 

say, " It has saved us from many absurdities" at 

another, we do not undertake to correct popular ex- 
pressions." — At one time he seemed to be preaching; 
now discoursing with his friends on religion, and again 
lecturing or arranging classes. But in all this there was 
nothing frivolous, nothing low, nothing unworthy of a 
great mind. 

But there was one scene of surpassing elevation. — 
Seeing, on one side of him, the partner of his bosom, 
" whom," he said, " he had always loved, and loved to 
love, and never more than now;" and their adopted 
daughter on the other, he said " let us pray together once 
more." And then putting an arm around the neck of 
each, while panting for breath and gasping out a few 
syllables at a time, he offered up a prayer, which, for pa- 
thos, power, and sublimity, appeared to surpass any thing 
that ever fell from his lips before ! It seemed the effect 
of inspiration 1 

His philanthropy never forsook him. He took a live- 
ly interest to the last in every thing relating to the happi- 
ness of mankind ; and in his mind the happiness of man- 



31 



kind, and the spread of true religion were identi- 
cal. He evinced by his remarks the interest he 
felt in every benevolent undertaking. He observed 
" there were some things 1 had hoped to see done before 
leaving the world. But what am 1, that I should have a 
part in these things ? Any active mind can do them." 
One present desired to know what things he particularly 
alluded to; when, after a pause, he added, " there is the 
poor Wesleyan University. But," he said, speaking to 
the professors who were present, " I hope you will stand 
by it, and that God will bless it." He never felt as if his 
office in the Institution could not be filled; but he justly 
believed that no one could feel the solicitude or would be 
willing to do for it all that he had. Hence when one spoke 
of the difficulty of supplying his place, he remarked, " it 
will be easy to obtain another president; but it may not 
be so easy to procure another father." Speaking in an- 
other place of his anticipations of future rest, he remark- 
ed, " but what is rest to me that I should indulge antici- 
pations of it, while there are so many unconverted in the 
world going downward to eternal woe ? I see very much 
to be done ; but any active mind can do it ; and the 
work of God is in his own hands. He can do without 
me." 

His regard for others and oblivion of self, was always 
an interesting feature in his character, and never appear- 
ed more strikingly than now. No one could be less ex- 
acting, or in his situation less engrossing. It seemed to 
give him pain that he was the occasion of so much trou- 
ble to others. Often he would refuse little comforts be- 
cause, though they afforded him some rehef, yet, he said, 
so disproportionate to the trouble they would give his at- 
tendants that they would not pay for it. His acknowledg- 
ments for kindness were touching. To one he would 



32 

say, " have you left your own dear home" — to another— 
your own sweet Httle flock" — to a third — your com- 
fortable bed, to wait on me — poor unworthy me ?" " 1 
do not know what I am spared for, I am sure, unless it be 
to make manifest the patience of my friends. Sure ne- 
ver man had such friends." To a young gentleman, a 
student who had been of great service to him from his 
peculiar tact in adjusting his pillows, and was much with 
him, he said, My kind young friend, you have watched 
me faithfully. You have tried even to make the pillows 
of death easy." And then, apparently fearing that anoth- 
er who was present might feel slighted, he turned and 
said, " You, too, have been kind to me. You will not lose 
your reward : for a reward is promised to one who gives 
even a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple." At 
another time we hear him exclaim, " O, that I could die 
in an obscure corner rather than give my friends so much 
trouble." 

It was very manifest that all his trust for salvation was 
in the merits of the Atoning Lamb ; and in Christ Jesus 
he had full assurance of his acceptance with God. Of 
this we have already had ample proof. To him empha- 
tically Christ was precious. He disclaimed all idea of 
receiving the promised reward on the score of right. 
" Rights ! I have no rights : but Christ has ; and he 
confers them on me." Again he said, Jesus ! Oh love- 
ly name ! No name so charming ! He saves his people 
from their sins! I am a sinner; therefore the name of 
Jesus suits me best !" And again, " My soul is centred 
in the love of God in Christ Jesus." 

He was favored with a most confident and triumphant 
hope of future bliss. Yet this was not so much charac- 
terized by ecstatic emotion, as by a calm, confident reli- 
ance upon the word and promise of God in Jesus Christ. 



33 



His reliance upon the great doctrines of the Gospel was 
unwavering. " They are God's truths," said he, " and 
will bear the light of eternity." And what strength of 
assurance was there in those words which were spoken 
with so much calm confidence, and unutterable hope. 
" Vain reasoners tell us the body and soul will go down 
into the dust together. But it is not so. So far from 
my body pressing my soul down to the dust, I feel as if 
my soul had almost power to raise my body upward and 
bear it away. And it will at last by the power of God 
effectually bear it to Heaven. For its attractions are 
thitherward." At one time, after having tried to lie 
down, on being replaced in his chair, he faintly said, 
" from the chair to the throne !" At another time com- 
ing to him when the vital functions seemed about to 
cease, he remarked with perfect composure " I believe 
I am going." And soon after said 

" There is my house and portion fair, 
My treasure and my friends are there;" — 

— some of them, at least, and the rest are on their way." 
And again, as the physician stood by his chair feeling his 
pulse and while his distress for breath was extreme, look- 
ing up, he inquired " is it. fluttering .^^" " Not fluttering," 
the doctor said " but very low." He sighed forth in an- 
swer, " the hour of release is at hand !" 

Two days before he breathed his last, I was convers- 
ing with him as to his prospects of the future. He was, 
as usual, full of peace, and tranquil hope. He was suf- 
fering severely from his agonizing weariness and difficult 
respiration. I observed that it was a great consolation 
to know that these distresses could not last for ever : — 
That a rest remains for the people of God, where the 
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at 
rest." He responded with peculiar emphasis, " Bless 
5 



34 



God for that !" The next day on entering his room I 
found him lethargic. Consciousness was ebbing fast 
away. It was difficult to rouse him so as to fix his at- 
tention. Nevertheless 1 went up to him and putting my 
hand in his, said, " I have come to see you, sir, once 
more. Do you know me ?" With his dying hands he faint- 
ly grasped mine, and distinctly whispered" Yes ; — glori- 
ous hope !" These were the last words I heard him 
speak. I believe they were the last he consciously utter- 
ed. He was fast sinking into a state of coma, from 
which his spirit was not aroused until it awoke replum- 
ed and glorified in the celestial world. And though the 
death struggle was terrible, yet that purified spirit seem- 
ed to leave behind it the stamp of its own glorious desti- 
ny. He that beheld that corpse in the habiliments of 
the grave would say, " that was the casket of a splendid 
jewel !" so much did it seem to smile upon the occupant 
which had gone to take possession of a nobler house 
above. The very happiness of Heaven seemed to be re- 
flected in the countenance of the dead. 

Officers ! Students ! Friends ! of the Wesleyan Uni- 
versity. 

The scene is closed ! The vision is ended ! Our pro- 
phet is no more ! In the olden time when Elijah was 
about to be taken up to Heaven in a w^hirlwind, he said 
to his servant Elisha, " Tarry here, I pray thee ; for the 
Lord hath sent me to Jordan." But Elijah said, " As 
the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave 
thee." So they came to Jordan. " And Elijah took his 
mantle, and wrapped it together, and smote the waters, 
and they were divided hither and thither; so that they 
two went over on dry ground." And Elijah said to Eli- 
sha, " Ask what I shall do for thee, before I betaken 



35 

away from thee. Now Elisha knew no better thing to 
desire, and so he said " Let, I pray thee, a double portion 
of thy spirit be upon me." And his master said, " Thou 
hast asked a hard thing: nevertheless if thou see me 
when I am taken from thee, it shall be so unto thee." 
And they went on and talked, and " behold, there ap- 
peared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted 
them asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into 
Heaven. And Elijah saw it," and rapt in a transport of 
astonishment and grief, he exclaimed, " My father ! My 
father ! The chariot of Israel ! And the horsemen 
thereof!" And he saw him no more. But he took the 
mantle cf Elijah that fell from him, and with it he also 
smote the waters of Jordan, crying " Where is the Lord 
God of Elijah?" And the waters knew the virtues of 
that wonder-working mantle and recognized the name 
by which they were adjured. And lo ! " they parted hi- 
ther and thither : and Elisha went over. And the sons 
of the prophets who were near, saw it and were aston- 
ished and they whispered to each other, " The spirit of 
Elijah doth rest upon Elisha!" 

Friends and brethren ! Our prophet is translated. 
Our master spirit is no more. Often have we, and many 
of you much oftener than myself, seen him go down into 
the troubled waters. But before that mantle of christian 
excellence which he wore, the turbid elements have been 
calmed and all discord ceased. No difficulty could long 
subsist before such a spirit* We went down with 
him also to the place of his departure; for like Elisha 
our hearts exclaimed, ' We will not leave thee I' And 
we were edified and blessed with his conversation until 
by faith we saw his ransomed spirit step into the chariot 
of fire, and take its flight into the realms above, and in 
mingled anguish and exultation, we exclaimed, 'My 



36 



father! my father! The chariot of Israel, and the 
horsemen thereof !' But, my brethren, who of us said, 
let a double portion of his spirit be upon me ? Where, 
where, in this company are the Elisha's who have caught 
the falling mantle of our ascended EHjah ? 

Brethren of the University ! Catch that mantle and 
wear it as your safeguard. You cannot have a better 
panoply. With it you may approach difficulties and 
they will vanish. The waters will divide, the storm shall 
be a calm; and the sons of the prophets shall recognize 
the virtues of that mantle and will say to each other, 
" behold the spirit of Elijah doth rest upon Elisha!" 



9 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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027 204 570 




LIBRARY OF CONGRES 




0 027 204 570 7 



Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



LIBRARY 


OF CONGRESS 








II 










UN 










0 027 




204 570 


7 





Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



